


It's Only The End of the World Again

by manic_intent



Series: The End of the World And Other Tall Stories [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, That fic where Hawke is blindsided by how... hot Cullen has suddenly grown, Varric's endless patience, and matters snowball madly downwards from there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 21:09:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3223523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric only got as far as “And this is the-“ before Hawke purred, “Why, <i>hello</i> there, stranger.”</p><p>Disappointingly, the drop dead <i>gorgeous</i> vision of male perfection behind the staid old desk in the partly ruined stone chamber stared at Hawke in pure confusion. Tousled tawny gold hair over a vision of a face: strong jaw, yet something indefinably boyish, full cocksucker lips, broad shoulders, trim hips… </p><p>“It’s good to see you again, Viscount,” the stranger blinked as Hawke finished his blatantly curious once-over. </p><p>“‘Again’? Surely I’ll have remembered you from somewhere before, handsome.” </p><p>“Er,” said the wet dream, and behind Hawke, Varric let out a deep sigh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Only The End of the World Again

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Hawke/Cullen: Well Damn You Got Hot
> 
> Some a!a is doing a m!Hawke/Isabella/Cullen fill, I think, so I decided to just do a Hawke/Cullen one. I’m actually quite partial to the Templar/Mage sort of dynamic, but since I’m already writing Dorian/Cullen I guess I’ll go with my Garrett Hawke. Note for those who didn’t use to read my Hawke/Anders fics:  
> Diplomat!Uriel Hawke!Mage - Sided Mages  
> Sarcasm!Garrett Hawke!Rogue - Sided Templars  
> Aggressive!Lionel Hawke!Warrior - Full AUs

I.

Varric only got as far as “And this is the-“ before Hawke purred, “Why, _hello_ there, stranger.”

Disappointingly, the drop dead _gorgeous_ vision of male perfection behind the staid old desk in the partly ruined stone chamber stared at Hawke in pure confusion. Tousled tawny gold hair over a vision of a face: strong jaw, yet something indefinably boyish, full cocksucker lips, broad shoulders, trim hips… 

“It’s good to see you again, Viscount,” the stranger blinked as Hawke finished his blatantly curious once-over. 

“‘Again’? Surely I’ll have remembered you from somewhere before, handsome.” 

“Er,” said the wet dream, and behind Hawke, Varric let out a deep sigh.

“Only you, Hawke. Only you. As I was _saying_ , this is Commander Cullen Rutherford of the Inquisition forces. Previously, you know, the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall?”

“… What,” Hawke said slowly, after a long and astonished moment, but now he could see it. Cullen’s hair had grown out, and he had lost the pinched look of assholery that the Kirkwall Templars seemed to cultivate as part of their distressingly unfashionable uniform, and he was no longer in a set of armour polished so blindingly bright that it gave Hawke a mild headache whenever he looked at it. “Holy mother of the Maker’s hairy _balls_. You’re _right_.”

Cullen reddened, though he seemed determined to be polite. “Ah… where did you go? The Seeker was looking for you.”

“Yes, yes, I heard, wasn’t interested, had better things to do and all that,” Hawke said absently, waving a hand dismissively. “More importantly, you don’t seem to be a templar any longer.” 

“Ah, I, sort of quit after that whole business in Kirkwall,” Cullen said uncomfortably. “Had enough of Circles. What happened to you? I thought you were the Viscount. Are you just on leave from it or-” 

“I quit. Got bored,” Hawke admitted, which was not entirely true but neither was it entirely false, and Cullen grimaced, and shuffled paper pointedly on his desk.

“Well, it’s. Nice. To see you again. Glad that you’re helping the cause,” Cullen added stiffly, when Hawke didn’t budge.

“I would have come to help the ‘cause’ much earlier if I’d known you were here, gorgeous,” Hawke drawled, leaning over to flatten a palm over on the desk, smirking invitingly. “Want to get a drink after this business about the Wardens is cleared up? We should catch up.”

Promisingly enough, this time, Cullen blushed to the tips of his ears. “I’m, ah, usually very busy. So.”

“So…?”

“Maybe, uh, later?” Cullen muttered, and to Hawke’s irritation, before he could winkle the ‘maybe’ into an ‘all right’, Varric was dragging him determinedly out towards the door. 

“We’ll leave you in peace now, Curly,” Varric said loudly, and pulled Hawke pointedly out, closing the door behind them with his foot. “ _Seriously_ , Hawke. I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Excuse _me_ ,” Hawke retorted, hurt, as they made their way across the bridge to the Keep proper. “You could’ve given me some warning there.” 

“About what? He’s the same person! You’ve met him before!”

“All right, Varric, all right,” Hawke patted Varric on the shoulder. “Look. I was kinda distracted in Kirkwall, all right? What with Bethany going into the Circle and all, I wasn’t exactly going to look at templars in a good light-“

“You _sided_ with them.”

“Had my reasons in the end,” Hawke said, a little tightly, because some nights Leandra’s death still haunted him, even over the space of the years. “But still. Just saying. He had this aura of assholery around him before that is now completely gone. It’s like the sun shining out from behind a cloud of arse.”

“… I,” Varric said slowly, “Have really missed you and your unique brand of insanity, Hawke.”

“Good to hear it. Now, is there any chance of a good beer in this place or do we have to hike back home to Kirkwall?” 

“There’s a fairly decent tavern thereabouts.”

“Better and better. Let’s have a drink, and then you can tell me whether that gorgeous specimen of a man is currently fucking anyone.”

Varric pressed a palm over his face. “Wardens? Going missing? Fade rifts? Corypheus? Any of this ring a bell?”

“Well yes, we’ll get around to that too,” Hawke shrugged. “In time.” 

Varric groaned. “Suddenly, I regret everything. Why did I get you involved again? Why?”

“Because,” Hawke said grandly, “It seems we fucked up, and didn’t stab Corypheus into smaller itty bits, burn the bits, spit on the ashes, then put him in an urn and toss the urn into the sea weighed down by rocks, or whatever we should’ve done in hindsight, and you’re spreading around the guilt and getting everyone involved. Surprised you didn’t call in the whole gang, actually.”

“…Thanks, Hawke. You keep me grounded.”

“I know. Look, Varric. I know you feel terrible about all this, but the thing is, stabbing people repeatedly has always worked for us before,” Hawke patted the leather-wrapped hilts of the daggers at his hips. “It worked on dragons… on blood mages… on various demons… hell, it even worked on a crazy lady who turned into a lyrium statue. I mean, how were we to know that our tried-and-true approach to problems _wasn’t_ going to work this time? On the balance of probabilities, it just wasn’t reasonably foreseeable.” 

“I’m worried about what we’re going to do this time,” Varric noted, “Given that we’ve _tried_ , as you said, the traditional way of stabbing him repeatedly. And I don’t think throwing his ashes into the sea would work. Besides, this time round, he has an Archdemon-like dragon.”

“I like killing dragons. Killing dragons is fun.” 

“Age has only worsened your many psychoses, old friend.” They ducked quickly through the keep before Hawke was recognised, and down a narrow stair towards a courtyard. “Let’s go get you that drink. Hopefully without running into the Seeker. She’s probably more than a little mad at me right now.” 

“I see you still have that remarkable talent of yours for pissing off powerful women.”

II.

Tickling the lock on Commander Cullen’s door was a little harder than it should be, but then again, Hawke was comfortably inebriated, and his hands kept fumbling. It was an old lock, though, and eventually it gave under his determined efforts, and Hawke sidled into the room, trying to swallow a giggle. Beer always made him a happy drunk.

Not that he was drunk right now. Of course. 

Closing the door more or less noiselessly, Hawke pocketed his lockpicks, and looked around the office with a critical eye. There was a ladder up that wasn’t there before, and after a long moment, Hawke made the logical deduction that Cullen’s bedroom was indeed above his office. How nice. 

It occurred vaguely to Hawke that Cullen’s bedroom could’ve been _anywhere_ in Skyhold, and that his original decision to break into Cullen’s office at this time of night could have been a total waste of time. Which it hadn’t been. This proved that karma, as it were, was working in Hawke’s favour. All was right with the world for once. 

Cullen was curled under a pile of fur, because Skyhold somehow managed to be even more dastardly cold than Kirkwall, and grinning to himself, Hawke sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling off his boots. It was cold enough that he was growing more sober by the minute, which was annoying, and by the time he got his armour and undershirt off, his fingers had stopped fumbling buckles. 

When Hawke had wormed his way under the furs, naked, Cullen stirred, with a confused “Wha-“ 

“Evening, Gorgeous,” Hawke grinned, and kissed Cullen on the mouth. Cullen went absolutely still for a moment, then he let out a most promising whimper and shoved Hawke back against the bed, kissing him back, enthusiastic but not in the least practiced, not even trying to lick into Hawke’s mouth, and making a low, harsh groan when Hawke pressed his tongue up through Cullen’s lips, to run teasingly over his teeth.

“What,” Cullen breathed, when he tipped his head back, blinking sleep out of his eyes, tousled and still unbearably pretty. Some people had all the luck. “Hawke?”

“Obviously.” 

“Why are you in my bed?” Cullen wrinkled his nose. “You smell of… of drink.”

“Failed quaffing attempt. It happens.” Hawke slipped a thigh between Cullen’s legs, and Cullen let out a tiny sound: he was already partly hard.

“This… isn’t a dream, is it?”

“Why do you ask?” Hawke inquired, as he slipped a hand between them both, under Cullen’s breeches and smallclothes, and trailed his knuckles playfully against the swelling cap of Cullen’s cock. “Had a naughty dream like this before about me?”

To Hawke’s amused surprise, Cullen blushed. “Well, er. I respected you a lot in Kirkwall, and. Looked up to you and.” 

“… and wanted to do more?” Hawke mouthed playfully over Cullen’s parting lips, swallowed the tiny groan that Cullen made with a kiss, “Tell me, gorgeous. Did you think of us like this? In bed?”

“O-once or twice…” 

“Only once or twice? I’m disappointed.”

Cullen whimpered as Hawke cupped him through his smallclothes and squeezed. “Maybe more! Oh, sweet Maker.”

“And were you fucking me?” Hawke drawled, deciding to push his luck, “Sucking my cock, maybe, with this mouth of yours-“ he kissed Cullen again, hungry this time, slow. “Or was I on my knees,” he lowered his tone lazily, “Buried inside you?”

“I… Maker, I-“ Cullen swallowed, then whispered in a rush, “I thought of it all.”

“Templars,” Hawke said, amused, as he rolled them over, pinning Cullen on the bed beneath him. “Done this before?”

“Not… ah… not particularly…” 

“Good.” Hawke kissed Cullen until he was pliant, until he had managed to get the rest of Cullen’s clothes pulled off and kicked aside, and they were both naked, wet cocks rubbing against each other in a slow and hungry friction, legs a-tangle, Hawke’s deft fingers tight around them both. Maybe there was some truth to Cullen’s admission: Cullen was writhing against Hawke, wide-eyed and breathless, a little wonder there, a little worship, and Hawke’s ego was definitely flattered to the Veil and back.

Hawke pulled harder, pumping them together, listened to Cullen’s groans shift up a register into whines, watched him dig his fingers into the sheets, glad of the gleam of the bright moon tonight, and when he sank his teeth up against Cullen’s flushed throat, Cullen pushed up against him and spurted thickly over Hawke’s fingers. 

“Oops,” Hawke grinned, breathless, as he brought his hand up to lick his fingers, and Cullen blinked owlishly at him, gaping, kissing Hawke fiercely when Hawke bent to give Cullen a taste of himself. Shaky, sword-callused fingers groped down, and the first pull was too dry, too fierce, but Maker was it _good_ , with Cullen groaning “Hawke, Maker… _Hawke_ ” like he’d forgotten how to say aught else, digging the blunt nails of his other hand into Hawke’s back when Hawke thrust up into the tight funnel of Cullen’s fingers and came so hard that he was dizzy from it. 

Cullen grinned at him, lopsided and sweet and sleepy, and Hawke kissed him on the nose, then on the mouth, until the kisses grew fumbled and lazy, until Cullen dozed off, head tucked under Hawke’s chin, and if these were the End Times, with the fade rifts dotting the world - then surely Andraste wouldn’t begrudge Hawke a taste of Heaven before everything got thoroughly fucked over.

III.

Hawke had been pulling on his boots before some comment or other had Cullen drag him over for a kiss, furs and clothes still everywhere and Cullen still beautifully bare under it all, and as such, in Hawke’s opinion, he _could_ be forgiven for not noticing when the door below was opened and Varric climbed up the ladder.

“Oh, for the Maker’s sake,” Varric groaned. “Really Hawke? Really?” 

Cullen blushed a bright red, jerking away, or he tried to - Hawke got a hand behind the back of his neck. “Morning, Varric,” Hawke said dryly, without looking around, and plucked another, if quicker kiss from Cullen’s mouth. 

“What’s happening?” came a curious, slightly anxious query below: the Inquisitor, Hawke recalled vaguely, the pretty young Evelyn Trevelyan. “Does everyone still have their fingers?” 

“Everyone forms such _terrible_ opinions of me on short notice,” Hawke said mournfully, even as Varric ducked a glance down.

“Everyone’s fine. Now why don’t you go get breakfast? We’ve got quite a way to go before long.” 

“All right,” Trevelyan said doubtfully. “Ah… morning, Hawke. Cullen. See you all later.” 

The door below opened then closed again, and Varric looked back up, arching his eyebrows. “Seriously. Long ride. This morning. Remember?”

“There you go, assuming the worst again. I’m fit to ride. We didn’t get up to _that_ kind of shenanigans.” 

“Just reminding you what you’re really here for,” Varric said, because he could be a mother hen at the worst of times, and climbed back down, wandering off. 

“Ah,” Cullen cleared his throat, and Hawke made an executive decision to rectify matters by kissing him again lightly on the mouth. “Well.” 

“Sorry. Varric’s never really understood the concept of privacy.”

“It’s not just him, admittedly,” Cullen mumbled. “No one in Skyhold really understands privacy.”

“I take that as a challenge,” Hawke smirked, and when Cullen opened his mouth, he added, “For another time, perhaps. When I get back.” 

“I’ll look forward to it,” Cullen breathed, a little shyly, which got him another kiss. “Good luck.”

“I make my own luck,” Hawke assured him, mischief and confidence both in his answering grin, and this time, it was Cullen who leaned over for a kiss, swift and fierce. All in all, Hawke decided, as he buckled on his blades, it was a great way to start off saving the world all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> Bahaha.
> 
> \--
> 
> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent


End file.
